


Then I Will Die

by arrhythmic



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7271533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrhythmic/pseuds/arrhythmic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Then I will die,” he says, but she knows he doesn’t mean it. That’s the way it’s always been. He lies and she clings to him, because he has left her with nothing else. The next time she sees him, he leads an army of falcons on a steed as black as his cloak, his mockingbird gleaming against his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then I Will Die

**Author's Note:**

> Quick little drabble based on season six that’s been on my mind since the The Door.

“Then I will die,” he says, but she knows he doesn’t mean it. That’s the way it’s always been. He lies and she clings to him, because he has left her with nothing else.

He knows how to make his eyes glimmer, to twist his eyebrows in genuine sorrow, to make the hearts of foolish little girls ache. He knows what to say to make her his, and only his.

“ _Half-brother,_ ” he murmurs, pausing at her side for just an instant before he walks away. With two words, she is no longer Sansa Stark, Jon Snow’s sister, worthy of the allegiance of all the Northern houses. She is just Sansa, a frightened little girl in a rundown shack, about to enter a battle that she can’t possibly win without _him._

He knows it. And she hates him for it.

It is days before she puts pen to paper, though she has always known, and _he_ has always known that she would.

_You promised to protect me. You failed._

It takes her far too long to conjure these words, to ink them onto the scroll. How trivial they look across the page, and how little of her horror they reveal.

_Now you have a chance to fulfill your promise._

She writes _promise_ as if that means anything to Petyr Baelish.

The next time she sees him, he leads an army of falcons on a steed as black as his cloak, his mockingbird gleaming against his chest. She wears her furs thick around her neck, the fierce mascot of the Starks proudly embroidered on her dress. Yet, she knows she is at his mercy as he dismounts and approaches her.

“The Knights of the Vale have come to your aid, my lady. The battle is won,” he beams as he takes her aside. He leads her by the waist to a secluded grove, away from the prying eyes of soldiers. A lingering hand dances at her hip until she spurns it by turning away.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Lord Baelish,” she says coldly. “Forgive me if I seem untrusting. I’m not used to promises being kept.”

“I will protect you. Believe me, Sansa.”

 _“_ No one can protect anyone. _”_

For a moment, she imagines the grief that she sees in his eyes is sincere. She wants him to know what it is to need someone and to be devastated by them. She wants to hurt him like she’s been hurt.

So this time when he kisses her she bites him until she tastes blood. Its metallic tang is the only reminder that he is indeed _human_.

But she is the one who pulls away first, and she revels in the way his brows are clenched in silent pain. When their eyes meet he says nothing, but merely takes an elegant thumb and wipes the crimson from his lips. Slowly, he parts his mouth and licks away the stain on his finger.

He is smiling again when he offers his arm. “Shall we? Your _brother_ is waiting.”

He only asks because he knows the answer.

She slips her arm into his, the flavor of his blood still on her tongue and on his. He takes a moment to brush his cheek against the fur on her shoulders and caress the copper hair by her neck, admiring the beauty of this thing he has tamed.

She thinks to herself what a strange thing it is, when a wolf is ensnared by a mockingbird.


End file.
